Page 45

I nod at the Texas Pete. “Can I help you with that?”

“No.”

“I really am sorry.”

“I really don’t care.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

She grits her teeth, twisting the cap. “I’d rather you not.”

“We had a new foal hit the ground last week. Ella’s preschool class is coming to the ranch to see it today. The baby goats, too.”

That gets Mollie’s attention. She looks at me. “Y’all have baby goats?”

“Of course we have baby goats. They eat the stuff on the ground cows won’t, so we use the pastures more efficiently. Sally’s also got a side gig, making goat cheese.”

“Freaking yum.”

“It’s delicious. Can I count you in? Ella seemed to take a shine to you the other day.”

Mollie looks back down at the hot sauce, twisting the cap so hard her knuckles turn white. “Maybe. If I have time.”

“I hope you do. Jesus, Mollie, give me that.” I grab the bottle and crack it open. “See? Easier when you let people help you.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do I get the feeling you need to take your own advice?”

“That’s my business. Speaking of business, you said you had a lot to do today.”

“Goody is coming over to walk me through a bunch of nuts-and-bolts stuff this morning. I have a few calls to make for Bellamy Brooks after that.”

“Bellamy Brooks?”

“My company.”

“Ah. Right.” I make a mental note to Google the name. Wonder if they have a website?

“Patsy!” Mollie turns off the burner. “Omelets are ready.”

I put a hand on the counter. “We’re meeting at ten o’clock at the barn. I hope to see you there.”

“I hope you get bitten by a snake.”

“Well!” Patsy claps her hands. “That seemed to go…well.”

Mollie scoops an omelet onto a plate and shakes a couple of dashes of Texas Pete onto it. She holds out the plate. “Patsy, you’re a saint for not poisoning him.”

“Aw, he’s a good man underneath all that gruffness.” Patsy eyes me. “Although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t tempted to knock some sense into that thick skull of his sometimes.”

I shrug. “I’ve been knocked around plenty. Three concussions. Three that were diagnosed, anyway.”

“Really?” Mollie scrunches her brow. “Occupational hazard?”

Patsy laughs. “Two of them were. The third he got when he fell on a dance floor, trying to do the Cotton Eye Joe.”

Mollie blinks. “Youdance?”

“Used to, until the concussion.” I lean my backside against the counter and cross my arms. I don’t miss the way Mollie’s eyes flick over my torso, stopping to linger on my forearms. “Made a rookie mistake and wore new boots to The Rattler. Hadn’t scuffed up the soles enough to get traction.”